


For Lydia

by michellejones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellejones/pseuds/michellejones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lead by a rumor that a highly dangerous Banshee resides in Beacon Hills, Argents decide to take on her themselves, but once they figure out she’s a teenage girl, Allison Argent, the youngest hunter, is appointed a task to gain the Banshee’s trust and learn more about her weaknesses. But Allison herself doesn’t notice when the facade becomes real. Nightmares start to plague her sleep and she knows she will never be able to harm Lydia. Everything falls apart on the same day -  Lydia finds out about Allison’s family and Kate Argent leads an ambush on the Banshee. In an attempt to save her, Allison dies and the hunters retreat, horrified by the outcome of the attack." Inspired by halemartells AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Lydia

Allison sits at her desk with her Aunt Kate peering over her shoulder. She turns to meet her eyes suddenly, with a flip of her hair. Her eyes strain for a moment, and she looks away.

 

“The best way to lure in the supernatural is by seducing them, trust me.” The way Kate says it, sweet and low beneath her breath, almost scares her. But Allison knows better.

 

It isn't her aunt she should be afraid of. It's what the monsters of Beacon Hills do that should scare her—and it does. But it doesn't make her want to run and hide, either.

 

“But what if she doesn't like me?” Allison bites on her lower lip like she does when she's nervous, gnawing gently at its skin. Kate runs a hand through Allison's hair, smiling down softly at her disheveled figure.

 

“Hey, kid. It's going to be okay. She _will_.” Kate's voice is riddled with possibility, pride in her niece, and what she knows they'll pull off. Allison will officially be a hunter, with her own bow, her own arrows, and her own mission. “You just have to make sure she does.”

 

Kate wears a smirk when she gives Allison her last look before leaving. Allison sits limply at her desk, running a hand through her hair. She shakes her head.

 

She's going to be _fine_. She's going to kill it, and she's going to feel nothing but accomplishment. It is not a human being, therefore, it does not deserve a second glance. It will only hurt her if she doesn't act.

 

“We hunt those who hunt us,” she says. Her lips tighten into a stiff smile. She repeats it beneath her breath, “We hunt those who hunt us.”

**

It's Allison's first day at her new school in Beacon Hills. It's definitely different from San Francisco—much smaller, much more isolated, and the kids are a lot less relaxed. Everyone seems a little tense a lot of the time. She has a feeling it's because of the high body count that's only been going up in the past year. She hopes to put a stop to the murder once and for all, kill the banshee, and get _the hell_ out of here.

 

Allison has a feeling their problem is more than just one creature.

 

She sees it the moment she enters the cafeteria, though the banshee looks more like a she than an _it_.

 

Allison shakes her head. She can't humanize the enemy. She wears a hard look, staring straight ahead with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. After a moment, she takes a breath and begins walking toward her target.

 

“Lydia, is it?”

 

“Yeah.” She responds as if Allison's not worth her time; like it was the most dumb, most _obvious_ question she could've asked. And it probably was. From watching her all day, people seem to cling to her; there's always a set of eyes on her. Lydia gives her lopsided smile, popping a fry into her mouth.

 

Allison shakes her head, laughing lightly.

 

“Yeah, sorry.” She pauses, eyes searching her face for... She really doesn't know.

 

There has to be _something_ off about her. She looks perfectly normal. Above average, even.

 

She clears her throat. “Hey, um. Are you free tonight?”

 

“Depends.” Lydia opens her mouth, and it's almost as if she's laughing. She's completely unfazed. This must happen a lot.

 

“On what?” Allison retorts, almost defensive.

 

“On who's asking and _why_ ,” she states, matter-of-factly. She still sounds amused with her, but there's something in her eye that resembles interest. Her eyes seem to dance in the light.

 

How does she still manage to look great under horrible, fluorescent lighting? Must be a supernatural thing, Allison decides.

 

“Well,” she begins with a brighter grin, “maybe I want to take you out.” Lydia's mouth forms an 'o,' momentarily caught off guard. Allison is now the one smirking. “And it's Allison.”

 

Lydia meets her eyes again. She's grinning playfully, reaching out to place her hand on top of hers. “Pleasure,” she says. Her voice is soft and sweet like honey.

 

When Lydia gets up, leaving Allison behind, she almost jumps out of her skin. She feels her heart beating faster and faster. She tells herself to shut up, rubbing a tense hand across her forehead.

 

_Fuck._

**

What _the hell_ is Allison Argent doing, standing outside her window? She almost hit her with a rock, as if her life were some 80's romantic comedy—like one that would've failed on it's opening weekend.

 

She was going to have to do better than that.

 

Lydia shook her head, leaning out her window to tell her to back off.

 

“You coming?” Allison calls. She's dressed in a beanie, a leather jacket, and a floral blouse. She makes a horrible outfit look good. Lydia would be jealous if she weren't turned on.

 

“I did _not_ think you were being serious,” she says. Her lips part, but she is no longer as objective. Her snaps her mouth shut when Allison snorts. “I'm not even dressed!”

 

“Just get down here,” Allison says through her rising laughter.

 

God. She _giggles_?

 

Lydia purses her lips. “I'll see you in ten, Argent.”

 

“Ay, ay, Captain!”

 

Lydia rolls her eyes, backing away from the window. She makes her way to her closet steadily, doing everything in her power to keep her mind off of Allison for just _one damn second_ and put on a head-turning dress.

 

Okay, it's a habit. She has to look better than her date. Always. And since it's Allison, she's already feeling a little inferior—with her soft smile and her dimples, and her long, brown hair that falls down her back so beautifully without effort. It makes her hate her. But it also makes her heart stutter and makes her want to kiss her.

 

She throws her tank top over her head with ease. She's had practice changing out of clothes hastily in Coach's office with a number of different people over the past two years. Nothing about dating is new, except maybe the feelings part. There aren't so many yet, so she can push them to the back of her head. She's already not quite sure if she wants this to continue.

 

“You're being stupid,” she tells herself. “You haven't even gone out on the date yet.”

 

She ends up pulling on her favorite white shirt, long enough to be a dress, and sliding her green coat carefully over her shoulders. She applies just the right amount of strawberry lip gloss and the right size heels before stepping down the stairs. She breathes in through her nose, out her mouth for a few seconds before swiftly marching out the door.

 

She walks with as much conviction as possible. She is calm, cool, and collected. She always is.

**

Their first date was going on a walk through the park.

 

Okay, so maybe it wasn't Allison's _best_ idea. But Lydia seems to be enjoying herself, walking ten strides in front of her. She dodges Allison's eye, even as she jogs right beside her.

 

“What's wrong? Did I do something?” Allison places her hand on her shoulder, and Lydia immediately pauses. She stops walking. Then she glares at her.

 

“No,” she says, but her tone suggests otherwise. “Just that I haven't eaten and it's ten o'clock. And what people _usually_ do on dates is go out to eat.”

 

“Well,” Allison begins, “I'm not just anyone. And I did bring something to eat, Lydia.” She pulls her bag down from her shoulder, giving her an easy smile. “What'd you think was in the bag?”

 

Lydia softens. “Blueberry muffins,” she says.

 

“I asked your mom what your favorite snack was. She told me you really like ones from the bakery in Sacramento, which is only a thirty minute drive from here.” She holds it out to her, almost like a peace offering. Lydia has no idea what to say. “She also told me you despise the chocolate chip ones because the chocolate doesn't compliment the muffin. Something about it tastes off. Which is actually good to know, because those are my favorite kind. I'll stay away from those.”

 

Lydia smiles at her for a much longer time than she intends to. She snaps out of it quickly, shaking her head. She does that cute thing with her nose again. It's like she's pretending to be mad, and Allison can't help but smile inwardly to herself.

 

“Still,” she says with a curt expression. “This isn't going to fill me up.”

 

“I have pizza back at my place. Come on.” She offers her hand to Lydia, and surprisingly, she takes it.

 

“Pepperoni?” she asks.

 

She nods. “Yeah. Pepperoni.”

**

“Where did you get this?” Lydia almost looks shocked. Her eyes are wide and there's a little bit of drool on her chin. On anyone else, she would be grossed out. But, like everything else, she manages to make pizza mouth look cute, and it aggravates her.

 

But if Allison's going to hang out with her, she's going to have to get used to it. And stop thinking about stuff like that. She straightens her posture.

 

“The place down the street,” she tells her. “I'm more of a thin crust girl, but I wasn't sure about you. I thought this was a fair shot, though. Wide eyes means... good?”

 

“Amazing.” Lydia takes another bite, chewing slowly and swallowing with closed eyes. She wipes her lips with a napkin. “I prefer deep dish pizza, but that was honestly great. Thank you.”

 

Allison supplies her with a gentle smile. She knows it takes a lot for Lydia to open up. She has a feeling she's not quite there yet, though. “A girl's got to eat,” she tells her.

**

Lydia falls asleep on the car ride back to her house. Allison flicks her gaze back over to her every couple minutes to keep an eye on her but catches herself lingering where her lips are glossed and her eyes are swollen with sleep.

 

Okay, so she's obsessing over her. She has to kill her, she knows that. But how? What's she going to do, stab her? Light her house on fire like another hunter had done to the Hales? That would wipe out her entire family. But maybe that's what they needed to do.

 

Allison is only sixteen. How the _hell_ is she going to kill this girl? It isn't that she has feelings for her. It's not that at all. But... she's still a person, right? She likes pizza, and blueberry muffins, but is inhuman enough to not like chocolate chips. Who the hell knows what this girl is.

 

When Allison parks in Lydia's driveway and opens the passenger door, all she knows is that Lydia is not the only one surprised when she wakes her up with her thumb stroking her cheek.

 

“It's two AM. You think your mom's going to kill me?”

 

“No.” Lydia's voice trembles for a moment before it's flat once again. “She thinks we were studying.”

 

A smile plays on Allison's lips as she takes Lydia's hand and leads her to the front door. “Goodnight, Lydia.”

 

She does not sound awake enough to know what she's saying. She rubs her eyes with the palm of her hands. “Goodnight, Alli.”

**

Allison knows she is getting closer. She's just not as happy about it as she thought she would be.

**

Their second date comes three days later. It's a Monday night and they're sitting in Allison's room, not really studying their asses off like they'd promised. But they had been. Allison had been quizzing Lydia from the flash cards she'd promptly written. Lydia, of course, had given her all of the correct answers. But when Allison's eyes lingered on her lips, she faltered. And Allison went for it.

 

Lydia sits on Allison's lap with her legs loosely wrapped around her waist, her hands at the nape of her neck, planting harsh kisses along her jaw. Allison leaves soft ones up Lydia's bare chest, biting down on her soft skin, just to see the reaction she gets from her. Lydia gasps out a gentle moan, her forehead pressed against Allison's shoulder.

 

Her smile is soft against her cheek. “I love it when you do that.”

 

“What you're doing isn't so bad, either.” And with that, Lydia brings her lips to Allison's, holding her in the palm of her hands.

 

For once, Allison doesn't feel like it's so bad to be delicate.

**

Their third date is on a Friday, and Allison continues to learn more about Lydia. She could probably name five things off the top of her head. A mental check off, perhaps. She maps it all out in her head, using each fact to calculate each decision to her advantage. She'll have her wrapped around her finger in _no time_.

 

1) She likes the color green because it brings out her eyes and her freckled skin. Allison agrees. She looked beautiful on their first date, just like she does everyday. But there was something different. She knocked the wind out of her.

 

2) Her favorite lip gloss is Strawberry Lip Smacker. She says it's the right amount of strawberry and not as sticky as it was in the nineties, so it's as good for casual use as it is for nostalgia.

 

3) Her mom and her dad are divorced. He lives in Los Angeles with their old dog named Rocco. Lydia says she doesn't miss her dad, just their dog. Allison knows she's lying. Lydia doesn't like bigger dogs, anyway. And obviously, she didn't name him. She tells Allison she would've rather gone for Michael Kors, or Louis Vuitton, but both her parents said those names were too long. She was only eight, so she let it slide. Lydia doesn't let anything slide anymore.

 

4) She learned how to make a Molotov cocktail at age thirteen. She was scared of the dark and the monsters under her bed. Sometimes she whispers about hearing things, but she never directly tells Allison that, or anything about the supernatural, really. Maybe that's more of a fifth date kind of thing. Allison's grateful for that, because she's not sure how she would respond.

 

5) Allison takes her tea the way it is, black, but Lydia pours spoonfuls of honey into hers. She looks mesmerized while doing it. Allison thinks she might want to buy her tea leaves for her birthday, but it's three months from now. She'll be dead by then.

 

She's suddenly sick with herself. She turns away from Lydia and walks quickly out of her room.

 

“Allison? Allison!” Lydia shuffles down the stairs to where Allison sits, her head in her hands.

 

She's not crying, but she's close. She doesn't even _like_ Lydia—she's a brat. She's selfish, and mean, and cruel at times. She _wants_ to kill her. She's a monster.

 

Allison lets out a sob.

 

But she's not. Anything that might be bad about another person is not with her. There's no second thought about that. She's _Lydia_.

 

She is smart. She is funny. She is not sweet, but she is kind. She is caring. She is loyal but guarded, and she has a list of reasons for that, which Allison knows—but Lydia trusts her and that is not good. She will only be another one of those reasons.

 

She hates feeling this way. She is going to get what she wants, but it doesn't feel good. She is going to make her family proud, and that is all she's ever wanted, but...

 

But _what_?

 

It scares her because she knows she can do this. She knows she can turn around and look at her without remorse. Because she's her girlfriend. She's her killer.

 

Lydia places a strong hand on her shoulder. “It's going to be okay,” she says. She doesn't ask questions, and Allison is thankful. There is no way to explain the tears in her eyes and her quivering lip, not even when it's spilling off her tongue. She could never tell her the truth, not even if she wanted to.

 

The fire in her stomach only turns once more when Lydia pulls her into her arms. Allison is eternally grateful.

 

“You wouldn't say that if you knew.” It's out before she can stop herself. She cries into her shoulder until her eyes are bloodshot and it's too late for the movies. They stay home.

 

Lydia pops in The Notebook anyway.

**

Someone asks her at school and she can't help but say yes.

 

“Allison Argent?” It sounds like a snarl. Stacy Wilson, of course.

 

Lydia hears a voice she doesn't recognize. “Yeah. Allison. She's _hot_.”

 

She snaps her head to look at the two. Stacy and some average-looking guy stand beside her, staring across the hall. She turns to where they're looking. And there she is, sliding books into her bag with precision. Lydia's breath gets caught in her throat at the sight of her. Stacy is the first one to notice.

 

“You too, Lydia? _God_. She's not even that great.”

 

Lydia is not the first person to smack Stacy Wilson, and she won't be the last. But she might've smacked her the hardest. She kicks her in the stomach with her heel and leaves her on the ground without second thought.

 

“Yeah.” Her voice is cutting, venomous. She stands over her. “Me too.”

 

The self defense lessons she'd gotten from Allison had came at a price; her legs are no longer as slim as they used to be. They are more full with muscle.

 

Not that what she had done back there with Stacy was anything near self defense. It was more of an attack, but she was still thankful.

 

“Lydia, what was that?” Allison takes her by the hand and pulls her close. “Was that Stacy? I know she's been saying things, but you didn't have to--”

 

She shakes her head. “I've been wanting to kick Stacy Wilson since the third grade,” Lydia says with a laugh. She smiles, cocking her head to the side. “And now I can, thanks to you and your lessons. Also, these heels are fabulous and they really helped. I think she's bleeding a little, but she'll get over it.”

 

Lydia leads her into Coach Finstock's office by the hand and hops onto his table. She brings her lips down to her neck. Allison hisses through her teeth.

 

“Come on. Kiss me like you mean it.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Lydia asks, furrowing her eyebrows. “Because, Allison, I promise you that I--”

 

She shuts her up by taking her face in her hands and bringing it just an inch away from hers.

 

“Lydia?”

 

“ _Allison_.” She says her name like she's testing her patience.

 

“Shut up and kiss me.”

**

_She's a monster. You have to kill her. You have to kill her._

 

_I am going to kill her. I do not question it. I do as I am told._

 

_I bring my hands up to her throat and feel her shake and gasp for air she cannot find. Highly dangerous? She melts in the palm of my hand._

 

_I am suddenly void of emotions, when my fist collides with her jaw. I watch her spit and stutter on her words, my hand still clasped around her throat. I keep punching her until I feel something crack beneath my knuckles and blood is smeared across her cheek and mouth. It lines her teeth and dyes her tongue a deep red._

 

_I let her go for a moment, taking her in. An amateur mistake._

 

_She kicks me in the side, and I double over, surging for breath. She sprints across the room, but I am faster. I am built for this. I am strong._

 

_I knock her down in a swift movement. And as she lies on her back, I watch her pull something from a holster on her side. A gun. She points it at me._

 

_I keep walking toward her. I am not afraid of a gun. I am not afraid of a bullet to the head._

 

_I have nothing to lose._

 

“ _Allison, it's me. It's Lydia,” she pleads. I stand still, towering over her._

 

_What is she trying to do?_

 

“ _Allison!” She's crying now, and something in me twists, like a knife. I grimace and shut my eyes. My mouth tastes of bile._

 

“ _Do it,” I order. I open my eyes, and look straight in hers. I have no regrets. “Shoot.” She trembles violently beneath my gaze and I am tempted to kick her in the gut. “Come on!”_

 

_She does something I don't expect. She turns the gun on herself and pulls the trigger._

 

Allison wakes with a scream and the sound of a bullet through Lydia's head ringing in her ears. Her dad has his arms wrapped around her, but she fights him off.

 

She can't she can't she can't— _Lydia_.

 

She can't do it. She can't hurt her.

 

She lets her head fall in her hands and hopes her dad does not see right through her.

 

He gives Allison's shoulder a light squeeze before leaving her to her thoughts and the silence that seems to eat her alive, more and more by the second.

 

She still sees it, her body relaxing with the bullet through her brain. She imagines her hands being the ones that take Lydia's breath away; wanting to let go but can't. Does she really not have any other option?

 

Allison does not try to fall back asleep. She knows she will not for days to come.

 

Not until the war is over. Not until somebody wins.

**

“She likes me. She doesn't like people very much, if you haven't noticed. I'm doing a pretty good job.”

 

Kate slings an arm around her niece's shoulder, pulling her in close. “Hey, Al, I know. Just... do a good job faster, all right? They're riding on us. On you.” She wears a tight smile that is supposed to motivate her. It used to, but now it just makes her heart sink low into her stomach. Allison never backs down from a challenge. She takes them head on.

 

But Lydia is a person. There's no way she could ever—

 

“Make me proud,” Kate whispers in her ear. The doorbell rings. “That's my cue.”

 

Allison opens her mouth to interject but Kate is already walking down the stairs. She doesn't want her anywhere _near_ Lydia. Admittedly, there's a part of her that wants to yank her by the hair and tell Kate to back the hell off. She is not ashamed, but she is afraid of the outcome.

 

She has to keep Lydia away from her, and telling Kate whatever it is that's on the tip of her tongue is not smart. Screwing this up could get both of them hurt.

 

From the top of the steps, she watches Kate twist Lydia's hair around her finger. Something resembling a snarl escapes her. Animalistic.

 

Kate snaps her eyes up to Allison, narrowing in on her with distaste.

 

“Allison has told me so much about you, _Lyds_. Such a pretty hair color, by the way.” She lets Lydia's hair fall loose from her finger in ringlets. Her eyes do not leave Allison. “Remember that thing we need to discuss later, Al. Aunt Kate really needs your help with something. Yeah?”

 

Allison nods hastily. “Oh. Yeah, of course.” Once she leaves the room, she lets out a sigh of relief. “C'mere,” she says quickly, beneath her breath. She takes Lydia by the hand, bringing her up the stairs and into her room. She runs a hand across the crease that lines her forehead.

 

“What was _that_?” Lydia blows air through her teeth, removing her coat without second thought. She plops down on Allison's bed. “She knows my hair color is real, right? You made sure to tell her?”

 

“No.” Allison narrows her eyes at her, shaking her head. “Lydia, _no_.” She closes her door carefully, pinching the bridge of her nose. She presses her lips together and brings her eyes back up to meet Lydia's. Her girlfriend gives her an inquisitive look, cocking her head to the side.

 

“Lydia,” she says. She bends down on one knee, taking her hands in hers and giving them a light squeeze. “Promise me that you'll listen to me when I tell you to stay away from here.”

 

“ _Allison_.” Her voice is soft like breaking in disbelief and hard when tasting something stale. She looks her right in the eye and says, “What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Allison herself doesn't even know what she's talking about—and _she_ is the one talking about it.

 

“You have to trust me,” she says. It's strong, but it's a plea. She needs her to trust her, even though she has no reason to. But Lydia doesn't know that. She can't. “Please.”

 

“If you could just _tell me_ what's even going on for once, maybe I would be a little bit more willing to listen. Your methods of persuasion are hardly...” Lydia pauses, her eyes looking over Allison's figure. She watches her run a hand through her hair. “Are you okay?”

 

“No. That's what I'm trying to say.” Allison brings her face to hers, leaving a soft kiss on upper lip. “I need you to trust me.” She kisses her again, harder this time. “You have to trust me.”

 

Lydia nods, resting her forehead in the nape of her neck. “Okay,” she says.

 

It's a whisper, but it's there.

**

It wasn't supposed to be real. She wasn't supposed to want to kiss Lydia. She wasn't supposed to miss her curves pressed into her side as she slept. She wasn't supposed to miss her small hands swiped across her skin, little pecks planted across her chest and up her neck. She wasn't supposed to want her. But she does, more than anything.

 

Allison doesn't trust herself to make the right decision. She doesn't trust herself to let Lydia go.

**

She's been avoiding her at school. Lydia knows it.

 

She watches her dodge her eye during English, and it infuriates her. If this is just _so easy for Allison_ , it should be easy for her too. So she looks away and begins actively taking notes.

 

 _Hemingway. An abusive alcoholic. Overrated._ That seems to be all she can think of.

 

Since when did she let anyone, especially some _stupid_ girl, plague her thoughts? Lydia was better than that. She knew she was.

 

Maybe she started letting the thoughts in when they became about Allison Argent—five foot eight, beautiful, slim girl whose body fits perfectly into hers. More than just a girl. Hers.

 

She throws a note at the back of her head.

 

Allison cringes, fishing it out of her hair. Lydia watches her unwrap it carefully, laying it flat on the desk in front of her.

 

She turns her entire body around to give Lydia a look, and there are tears in her eyes. Lydia parts her lips, about to speak, but she finds no words.

 

“What are you trying to do, Lydia?” she whispers huskily. Her voice cracks in several places, and Lydia is taken aback. She brings her eyes back to her notes slowly.

 

“Forget it, Allison.” Her voice is cold, hard. “Forget the entire thing.” She gives the girl a wry smile, cocking her head to the side. “It meant _nothing_ to me, anyway.”

 

Lydia doesn't know how she can mean that, given what she had told her, but she ignores the pang of guilt that squeezes in her chest when Allison swings her bag out of her shoulder and leaves class. She resists the urge to run after her and continues sitting absolutely still in her seat. Her eyes do not leave the paper in front of her.

 

She's not sure if she would've gone after her, even if it had been the last time. But there's still a part of her that hopes to see her again.

**

She lays in bed, twisting a ring dagger through and around her knuckle.

 

She hears Lydia's nails scraping against the concrete in her mind, begging Allison to wake up, wake up, wake up. But she can't.

 

This is not a dream. The bullet through her head is a reality—she just doesn't know how to face it yet.

 

She cannot cry over Lydia. Not as she flattens her note into the palm of her hand and reads over it with wide eyes; not when she disposes of her body with her father, like she promised she would. But this is different.

 

It is not that she isn't a supernatural creature. Lydia very much is. But that doesn't mean she isn't human.

 

No matter how hard Allison tries to not feel that way, she can't. She can't stop wanting to kiss her. It's almost like she can't breathe.

 

Allison rests her head on her forearm, closing her eyes. She finds herself no longer fighting it. Whether it's sleep, whether it's what's been going on, she doesn't know. Just that, with each breath, she is slowly becoming more and more undone by Lydia Martin.

**

She wakes three hours later to a dimly lit room and soft sniffling.

 

She knows it. She knows her.

 

“Lydia?” Her voice comes out like a whisper. She rubs her eyes before taking a better glance at her. She's rigid, only her hands shaking. “What are you doing here? I told you not to come--”

 

“Kate let me in,” she says.

 

There's something off about this—about the way she's standing, speaking—about _Kate_ letting her in.

 

“Argent.” Her voice is heavy, like it's being weighed down by some ulterior emotion. “A family of hunters that have been hunting the supernatural—for over two _hundred_ years, Allison.” She scoffs. “I should've known.” She turns around, and Allison sees the gun she holds steadily in her hands, despite her shaking fingers.

 

She looks like she wants to point it at her, but she can't. She lets it drop to the floor.

 

“Lydia, _what_?” She cannot find enough breath to sustain herself. Her heart is beating too fast, and her mind is spinning. She wants to reach out and touch her.

 

“The box,” she says. “It said, 'For Lydia,' so I opened it. I didn't know my birthday present from my girlfriend would be a revolver.” She chokes out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut. “That's real sweet, don't you think?”

 

She wills for it not to be real. But when she opens her eyes, the gun still lies at her feet, and her girlfriend is still plotting to kill her.

 

“A bullet in the fucking head,” she mutters at no one in particular. Maybe at her freshly painted toenails—red, Allison's favorite color. She regrets that choice a lot, now that it's all she has to look at.

 

“Was it real, Allison?” She bites down on her bottom lip so hard she feels like it might split in half. “Be honest. For _once_.”

 

“It wasn't supposed to be,” Allison says, tears hot behind her eyes. “But it is.”

 

“So you knew.” She opens her mouth, maybe to give her another chance; maybe to tell her she's sorry. She doesn't know which.

 

Lydia clamps it shut immediately, gritting her teeth. “You know what?” She spits out her last words with venom that makes Allison lose her balance. “No. No way. Stay the hell away from me.”

 

She walks, but still lets Allison take hold of her wrist. She wants her to say it. She wants her to say she didn't mean it. That it was a joke—a cruel joke—because that, she could take. She _can't_ take this.

 

She feels Allison tremble against her. She's closer than she's ever been, but she's too far away.

 

“I wanted you to stay away for a reason.” She's pleading with her again. To understand.

 

But what's there to understand?

 

She shakes her head. “Did you really, though?”

 

“Lydia, I--”

 

“I can't.”

 

Allison turns her around.

 

Lydia watches her swallow and her leg twitch like it does when she's nervous. Like it did when she was crying that night. When she's guilty, ashamed. It's something that hurts to look at.

 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, like it's the one thing she's sure of. “I am. I do. I love you.” She inhales, her face contorting with some sort of emotion she can't place. Probably because she's never felt it. “And I'm sorry.”

 

Lydia watches as she runs the pad of her thumb along the note she gave her earlier that morning. _I need you_ , it had said. She shakes her head, forgets the gun on the floor. She forgets the lines of regret pulling at the corners of Allison's mouth. She forgets the aching feeling in her stomach that had her gasping for air a minute ago.

 

She breaks and starts toward Allison, crying as she wraps her arms around her. She hides her face in the crook of her shoulder.

 

“It's okay,” Allison manages to say. Her lips are pressed against her ear. “I love you, it's okay. It's okay.”

 

“How is this okay?” Her voice is no longer her voice. It's too broken to be.

 

“I'm going to make this okay.” Allison kisses the space between her eyebrows, and it's just as beautiful as it's always been. She presses her forehead to Lydia's. “I will.”

 

Lydia hates herself for even thinking to believe her. But she does.

 

“Okay.”

**

_I love you, it's okay. It's okay._

Those seem to be the only words that get her through the night.

**

“This isn't safe--”

 

“But it's smart,” Allison says. “Kate won't be able to get to you. Neither will my father. Okay?”

 

Allison is holding onto her hand, so tight that her knuckles have turned white. Tears prick Lydia's eyes, and she lets out a shaky breath of air.

 

“Allison,” she hisses.

 

She lets go.

 

“It's smart,” she says again. She's barely looking at her. “You'll be safe.”

 

“That is _not_ what this is about.” Lydia's voice is tight, like it might break.

 

“This is about you. Not me.” Allison has finally turned to face her. She takes her hand again, giving her a small smile. “Now, let's go before they find us.”

 

Lydia has no idea where they are. Not a clue. But Allison seems to know her way around, so she doesn't ask questions, no matter how much she wants to.

 

Now's not the time. Her life is on the line.

 

Lydia walks behind her, careful not to make a sound.

 

Allison holds her bow tight in her hand. She cannot give up. She can't, not when it's Lydia. She is a lot of things, and not all of them are good, but she will fight for the ones she loves. And she does. She loves her.

 

“Okay, so what the hell is your plan?” Lydia asks, impatiently. She manages to keep her voice quiet enough so only Allison can hear her. “Because if you plan on getting us out of here _alive_ \--” She stops in the middle of her sentence, absolutely still. Frozen. She is looking at nothing, her eyes wide with worry and legs trembling beneath her weight.

 

“Lydia, what do you hear?” she asks, cautiously. “ _Lydia_.”

 

“I hear them. I hear your dad--” But before she can get another word out, a shot is fired. “Allison,” Lydia begs, grasping onto her arm. Her eyes are desperately trained on her. Her nails begin to dig into her forearm as she pleads with her— _please, please, come with me._

 

“Go,” she says. She draws her bow and arrow and aims at something in front of her. She doesn't move an inch—she hardly breathes. “Lydia. Run.”

 

It takes another shot being fired for Lydia's instincts to kick in. It is only logical to run.

 

That is her father. He won't hurt her. She's going to be okay.

 

So when she runs, Lydia doesn't look back. She runs until her lungs are on fire, and her throat is dry, and she's hunched over, gasping for air. She's far enough that the heartbeat ringing in her ears is loud enough to drown out the shots being fired.

 

“I can't,” Lydia says. “I can't.” She drops to her knees. There is something crawling up her skin. Voices: _I love you, I love you. Lydia._ A gasp for breath that is not fulfilled.

 

She swears she is being punched in the gut when she screams, “ _ALLISON!_ ” And it sure as hell feels like the world has ended.

**

March 17, 2014. Time of death: 10:45 PM.

 

Allison Argent was seventeen years old. Her aunt Kate shot her in the chest five times before she crumpled down to her knees. She died protecting the ones she loved.

**

 _You did well_ , her father whispers into her hair, but he is far gone. He cries until he can't anymore. He won't ever forgive himself. Lydia knows that because she feels the same way.

**

She says it slowly to herself one day, when she's pressed up against her dresser and fresh out of tears.

 

“I wish I could've saved you.”

 

She nods, like she's accepting it. Accepting the fact that she won't ever come back.

 

But she can't. She knows that. She can't accept that Allison died saving her and can't ever take that back.

 

Did she have a choice? And if she did, did she choose the right one?

_**_

Lydia finds comfort in someone she never would've expected it could come from. Argent. Chris Argent. And while his arms are all she has left, they are not Allison's. No one will ever be as gentle and as strong, all at once.

 

The thought tears Lydia to pieces.

**

_Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes._

 

Lydia looks up at Chris Argent, her lips pressed tightly together. She nods.

 

The words in French are carved neatly in cursive on the outside of the wooden box. _For Lydia_ is printed at the bottom.

 

When she opens the box in his hand, inside it is a necklace with a silver arrow pendant.

 

_We protect those who cannot protect themselves._

**

It was never Lydia's decision to make: life or death. It was Allison's.

 

And she chose death.

 

So while she is six feet under, Lydia studies for an AP exam, and all she can think is: she loved me. She really did love me. And eventually: I loved her too. I did. I loved her too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read this entire thing, I am so happy that you did. Seriously. I was very antsy to post this and was running out of ideas, frankly, so I posted it before it was properly finished. I hope you still enjoyed this. This is my longest one shot ever, which is a little embarrassing, but I'm really happy I did it, so that I know I can accomplish more. Thank you!


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